


starry eyes and galaxy minds (we’ll be dancing on the clouds at night)

by Pawprinter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter 2 is fan art, Doctor Clarke Griffin, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing in the Rain, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Superhero Bellamy Blake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-02 16:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19445005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pawprinter/pseuds/Pawprinter
Summary: Over the last few years, New York had changed; criminal activity skyrocketed and masked vigilantes ran around the streets at night. The most popular superhuman in New York just so happened to wear red spandex and was commonly known as their Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man.Clarke had no idea just how familiar they’d become.orFive times Clarke Griffin met Spider-Man and the one time she met Bellamy Blake.





	1. starry eyes and galaxy minds (we’ll be dancing on the clouds at night)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bellarkefanfiction writing team fill with the prompt “spider-man au! maybe not the entire plot of spider-man bur kinda inspired by it? bell is a secret superhero and saves reporter clarke maybe? oo maybe a 5 + 1 kinda thing i don’t know” requested by anonymous.
> 
> A few notes about this fic, if you’re curious about the details like I usually am:   
> -Regarding which version of Spider-Man is in this fic (Maguire, Garfield, or Holland) — this fic doesn’t follow and isn’t based on a specific version. It just uses the general idea of Spider-Man as a masked superhero.   
> -That being said, you do not need to know anything about Spider-Man/Marvel to read this!
> 
> Warnings: this fic is rated M for language, violence, and blood. Violence and blood were limited to canon-typical levels, but please keep this in mind!
> 
> The title of this fic is lyrics from the song “Freckles and Constellations” by dodie. If you like listening to music while you read, I feel like this song would go well with this fic! :)
> 
> Enjoy

******_i._ **

Even though Clarke knew she would be covered in blood on Friday, she didn’t know who it would belong to.

It was late at night when she was making her way home from work. Her shift at the clinic had been a long one and she was dreaming of a hot shower and her thick warm blankets.

She loved her job, she really did. Every time she’d go to work, she knew she was making a difference in someone’s life. She’d help bring light and understanding to the patients that walked through her doors. When she first opened her private practice, she knew she would be helping lives, but she didn’t know how beautiful it would be.

She was proud of where she was in life. After spending years getting her medical degree, and after investing most of her money into opening her practice, she was beyond proud of the success she had built. She had a steady base of clients, her employees were helpful and bright — the little community she built was flourishing, and so was she.

The world had changed since she opened the practice. She’d seen patients come and go, she’d helped more people than she could count, but the world outside her little bubble became a little darker.

Clarke glanced uneasily out of the corner of her eye and forced a chill down her spine. _Something didn’t feel right_. The night air was humid, yet she couldn’t force the goose bumps away.

Within the last few years, New York was thrown into a world she didn’t fully understand. Masked vigilantes ran around the streets at night, criminal activity skyrocketed, superhumans were becoming a regular occurrence. 

The world was different.

As she walked through a darkened street, she cursed herself for staying so late at the office. The full moon illuminated the street around her, casting a silver glow over everything.

Clarke gripped her bag a little tighter and lifted her chin, refusing to get spooked. The only sounds she could hear were the faint click of her heels against the concrete — which was strangely comforting, the traffic in the distance, and a rattle coming from the closest back alley which she could easily imagine a cluster of rodents digging through a trash can.

She blew out a breath of air. Why did she stay so late at the office? Why didn’t she just leave when the sun was still in the sky?

 _Because you’re in love with your work,_ she told herself. _You wanted to stay and finish a few cases. You wanted to double check the books to make sure the urgent order of supplies didn’t throw off things too much._

Even though she felt her skin prickle along her neck, she couldn’t bring herself to regret staying past sunset.

Just as Clarke felt like she was settled, she could hear the scuffle of shoes in the distance. Her head whipped around to see where the noise came from. An alley across the street was still out of view, but she could tell the noises were coming from there. 

Clarke stilled in that moment. Her feet were rooted to the ground and she held her breath, suddenly too scared to make a sound. Her blood rushed through her veins, pounding loudly against her skull. A jolt of adrenaline travelled her spine, making every nerve in her body light on fire.

Her alarms were ringing. _Danger. Danger._

A few seconds passed before a loud grunt came from the back lane. She rocked onto the balls of her feet, waiting for a sign for her to sprint away. 

(Really, What the hell was she doing? Why wasn’t she already running in the opposite direction?)

“Hey, man.” The voice that came from the alley was muffled from how far away she was. “Out for a late night stroll, I see?”

She should’ve been running. She knew it. Her red flags were going wild in her mind.

_Run. Go home. Get away._

Still, she couldn’t move. She was rooted to the ground, only able to listen to the conversation across the street and around the bend.

“Fuck off,” a second voice responded, their voice rougher than the first. They sounded murderous from the amount of anger behind their words.

“Afraid I can’t.” That was the first voice speaking again. “You see, I’m going to have to ask you _nicely_ to hand over those stolen wallets.”

While she couldn’t see what was going on, she could imagine the next few seconds clearly. She could hear the rustling of fabric, and she imagined, whoever in that alley, was moving quickly. She heard shoes on the pavement and a grunt. Several more disjointed grunts followed, each in increasing desperation and panic.

 _Someone was getting hurt._ She recognized the sound of flesh hitting flesh easily, having witnessed one too many fights while growing up.

Every instinct was telling her to run in the opposite direction. _Yet, she couldn’t get the image of someone getting hurt._ What if she could help them? What if she could—

She was moving forward without a second thought, all concerns of her safety gone. All she could think about was the other person in the alley, the person getting punched repeatedly. She had to help, consequences be damned.

The grunts were turning to shouts now. Clarke raced across the street while her fingers fumbled for her phone to call for help.

She rounded the corner, a shout on her tongue. As soon as her eyes caught sight of what was happening in the alley, all cries died on her lips.

Standing a few feet in front of her was a man dressed in red and blue spandex. Black lines crisscrossed along his chest and back in an intricate pattern. A mask was pulled tight over his face, hiding his identity. She recognized him easily from the Daily Bugle. _Spider-Man._

Shit. 

Spider-Man was standing in front of her. 

And, standing in front of Spider-Man was another man, this one fused to the wall by a white substance. His shoulders were broader than the masked vigilante’s were, which was saying something. A scruffy beard coated his chin and cheeks, and his hair was long and tangled. Most strikingly were the scars along his face. 

_Shit_. What did she just walk in on? 

Once again, Clarke froze to the ground. Her eyes widened and her lips parted from shock.

The three in the alley all faced each other, each one of them looking just as shocked as the next. Spider-Man was frozen in mid-punch and the criminal looked comically terrified at her appearance. 

She was the first to speak. “Shit.”

That seemed to break Spider-Man out of whatever state of shock he was in. “Uh. Hi. Ma’am. Evening.” He nodded his head in her direction.

Her eyes swivelled between the red superhero and the man attached to the wall. It took a few seconds for Clarke to realize that the second man — the one with the beard — was glued to the wall with _spider webs_.

Her eyes snapped back to the red mask. While she couldn’t see his eyes, she could’ve sworn Spider-Man was staring straight at her. It made the air disappear from her lungs. She felt entirely out of her depth.

One agonizing second passed before Clarke realized _she just freaking tried to fight Spider-Man._ From the bruises blossoming along the bearded man’s cheek, she assumed Spider-Man had been doing the punching, and she ran into this back lane with the intention of helping whoever was being punched. 

Yup. She screwed up. She came around the corner, her eyes blazing, her keys between her fingers. She expected to find a teenager pushed against the wall and a black-masked criminal over them.

Nope. No, she just interrupted Spider-Man taking down a criminal. No big deal.

“Shit.” Her brain must’ve short-circuited. That was the only word she managed to speak.

Spider-Man gave a small wave. “Hi.” He pointed behind Clarke and gestured her away. “Uh. Best be on your way.”

No shit. She most definitely should be on her way, except—

“You’re Spider-Man,” she said, completely dumbfounded.

He nodded slowly. “You got it,” he drawled. He waved her off again. “Meet and greets are tomorrow, lady. I’m a little busy.”

Clarke stopped short. _What the hell did he just say?_ Spider-Man did _not_ just sass her, did he?

She lifted an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Spider-Man let out a loud sigh and shifted his feet, relaxing into a more casual stance. His hands fell to his sides.

Oh god. Really, she should get out of here. She was interrupting Spider-Man beating up a criminal, for fuck sake. _Leave. Just leave._

“I- uh… I was kidding.” Spider-Man pointed at the spider symbol in the centre of his chest. “It’s kinda what I’m known for.” He tilted his head to the side. “What are you doing out here.”

She felt her cheeks heat up in flames. This was really a ridiculous situation to be in — one that she next expected. She didn’t really have an answer to his question. Why did she come running? It wasn’t like she could’ve actually helped if Spider-Man wasn’t here.

“I was headed home and I heard screaming, and I—”

Spider-Man pinched the bridge of his nose and remained silent for a few seconds. When he spoke, he sounded exhausted. “You do realize you’re supposed to run _away_ from screaming coming from a back alley in the middle of the night, right?”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “Yet here _you_ are. You didn’t run away.”

He lifted both of his hands in her direction. He looked exasperated, like he was utterly exhausted with her.

“Lady, you’re _human._ ” 

“And, what?” she urged. “You’re not?” 

She regretted it as soon as she spoke. _Of course not._ He was a superhuman with superpowers. He climbed walls and shot webs from his wrists. 

“No.”

“So… You’re… a spider?” 

His groan was stifled by the heels of his hands against his mouth. “Does Spider- _Man_ mean nothing to you? I’m a spider… plus a man.” He gestured to the black spider on his chest again. “Spiders- _ah, oh shit._ ”

Before she could figure out what was happening, a string of what could only be described as a white web hit her shoulder with such force, she was falling to the ground. She let out a pained gasp as the palms of her hands dug into the rocky pavement below.

Spider-Man’s back was to her now and the criminal that was previously webbed to the wall was racing past her, a panicked expression on his face. He didn’t give her a second glance as he launched himself over her outstretched legs, nor did he look back as he skidded around the corner.

She sat on the ground, absolutely dumbfounded. She blinked slowly at the spot on the wall the criminal had rounded, her mind sluggishly trying to comprehend _what the hell just happened?_

Did she really just witness a criminal escape? Not only that but _escape Spider-Man?_ How did he get out of the webs that bound him to the building?

“Hey!” The voice behind the mask wavered. It lost the cockiness it held only moments before. “You should know it’s not nice to _stab people_!”

Clarke’s head whipped around so fast that her braid smacked against her cheek. Sure enough, Spider-Man was standing a few paces away from her, his left hand clutching his right bicep. Despite the suit being red, she could see the dark crimson liquid seeping out from between his fingers.

_Oh, shit._

He tried to take a step forward, but stumbled over his own feet. He fell to the ground on his knees before he could make it any further. 

Clarke found herself skidding to a stop beside him before she realized she moved. Her hands were reaching for his wounded arm, slowly, like she was scared moving too quickly would startle him. She paused inches away from his skin when reasoning and logic seeped back into her mind.

“I…” The right words refused to form in her mouth. _I am a doctor,_ she wanted to say. _I can help you. Can I help you?_ Her heart was pounding in her chest. It made the world feel far away. “Are you okay?”

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The masked hero turned his face towards her own. Once again, it felt like his eyes were piercing her soul, despite several layers of fabric separating them.

This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t kneeling in a dirty back lane at two in the morning just mere _inches_ away from Spider-Man. She didn’t interrupt and completely sabotage an interrogation of a criminal. Spider-Man didn’t just get stabbed, and she wasn’t watching his blood run down his arm.

_Except she was._

This was real. Superheroes and masked vigilantes protecting the streets had become New York’s reality. Having one bleeding inches away from her had become _her_ reality.

“Good,” he muttered, his voice wavering. “I’m good.”

Clarke pushed a few loose strands of her hair out of her eyes as panic settled into her bones. “You’re bleeding.” She chuckled without humor. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” Before he could respond, she was leaning forward again. “I’m a doctor,” Clarke said, her voice stronger than before. The panic that had been growing was pushed to the back of her mind. The familiar feeling that came with treating an emergency patient replaced her panic. _Distance. Detachment. Determination._ “I’m a doctor. I can help.”

He inched away and gripped his arm tighter. “No, I’m fine.”

Clarke raised her eyebrows and gestured to his arm. “You’re bleeding.”

“It looks like it.”

“That’s not _fine_ ,” she quoted the last word. “You need the wound to be stitched up.” He didn’t seem too impressed by that suggestion. “Or cleaned at the very least?” His mask shifted as he pulled a disgusted expression. Clarke huffed. “At least let me examine it.”

Spider-Man straightened up and squared his shoulders. “Uhhhhh, lady, this suit isn’t exactly equipped for examinations. If you know what I mean.” 

Her eyes snapped to the body of the suit as she tried to figure out what he was getting at. _No seams._ The blue and red suit was one seamless piece of fabric. The whole thing would have to come off if she were to treat the wounds underneath, and she doubted he wore clothing under the suit.

Despite the situation, she felt a smile creeping onto her lips. “The infamous Spider-Man wears a onesie!?” She smothered her smile when he winced. “Right. Sorry. Stabbing.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted again. “ _Really._ ” He gestured to the spider on his chest _again_ (like… yes, I get it, you’re Spider-Man). “Superpowers and shit. I’ll be as good as new in a few minutes.”

“From a stab wound?” She didn’t quite believe him. “That was gushing blood seconds ago?”

“Perks,” he claimed. He adjusted his position so he was sitting on the ground, his elbows resting on his knees. It looked like he fully intended on resting until his wound was sealed, which Clarke was all for. She leaned back to rest on her legs.

For a moment, they both were silent. Clarke was racking her brain to try and come up with something to say, but, come on. _It was freaking Spider-Man_. He was in the newspapers every other day, he saved countless lives, he was always risking his own life for others. He protected people he didn’t even know and, yeah, she thought that was pretty cool.

“I’m Clarke,” she offered after a beat of silence. She didn’t offer her hand to shake, considering both his arms were incapacitated.

He nodded in acknowledgement. “Spider-Man.”

The corners of her lips twitched upwards. “I gathered as much.” She glanced at his bicep again. “You get stabbed often?”

“Probably more often than what people would consider normal.”

She smirked. “More often than what _non-spider-slash-man people_ would consider normal, right?” she jokingly corrected him

His laugh was soft and it made her chest warm the slightest bit. It hit her just how _human_ he truly was in that moment. He might’ve been Spider-Man, but there was also someone under that mask.

“Right.” He flexed his fingers to adjust the pressure on his arm. “It comes with the territory though,” he assured her. “Not a whole lot of people say ‘thank you’ when I web them to the wall and call the police. A few bullets here, a few stabbings there — a whole lot of fun profanity.” 

It was strange, how easy it was to smile with him. She didn’t know this man, but there was something about him that made her relax. Maybe it was because she read about him so often in the news, or maybe it was because she knew he’d protect the citizens of New York with every last ounce of strength.

_Maybe it didn’t really matter._

“How’s your arm doing?” she asked. He pulled his hand away from his bicep and, before she could tell him to keep applying pressure, she noticed the blood on his gloved hand was dry.

 _No fresh blood._ It was impossible, considering he was stabbed only minutes ago. 

She rocked forward and examined his wound closer. Sure enough, just as he promised, it had clotted over. 

Damn. He wasn’t lying when he said he had a healing factor.

“Told you,” he said. “Almost as good as new.” 

He must’ve decided it was good enough for him to move on to thwart the next crime because he stood up, brushing the gravel from his legs. She followed him, her eyes never leaving his bicep.

“That’s amazing,” she breathed, not holding back her pure astonishment. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“What can I say; I’m unique.” 

Her eyes flicked back down to the rip in his suit. She could see the skin underneath the fabric despite all the blood. Even though the wound had clotted, she knew it wouldn’t hold shut if he started moving around much.

“Wait,” she said quickly, afraid he’d vanish before her eyes. She reached into her bag on her hip and dug around. “You should at least let me bandage it.” As she continued to dig, she lifted her eyes to glance at his masked face. “Is that okay?”

He was stiff for second and she was afraid she overstepped. _Of course you overstepped,_ she chided herself, _he’s a superhero. He doesn’t want your bandages._

Her thoughts quieted down when he nodded. It only took her another minute to find the correct size of bandage in her bag and sanitize her hands.

“You carry a whole hospital in there?” he teased, catching a glimpse of the various bandages inside.

She dropped her bag to the ground and took a step forward. “Caught me.” She ripped open the packaging of the bandage as she spoke. “I’ve just been preparing for this moment, you know. I had a feeling I’d meet a superhero in the streets needing some medical attention.”

“At least I know who to turn to if I need to get patched up,” he commented. She wondered about how many times did he need to get patched up.

He was the sole superhero in their neighbourhood. He caught the criminals that escaped arrest by the police, stopped crimes while they were in progress, and took down superpowered villains. How much did he personally risk every time he pulled on that mask?

She didn’t ask him. It felt like a taboo subject, bringing up mortality with a superhero. She doubted he wanted to think about how much danger he was in. She knew that if their roles were reversed, she’d never want to think about it.

Clarke wrapped his arm in silence. It was a quick fix and she felt herself in awe over his healing ability once again.

As she tied off the ends of the wrap, she glanced towards his mask. “Comfortable?”

“As snug as a bug.” The fabric of his mask shifted with his facial expression. She could hear his smile when he next spoke. “Get it? Because-”

“You’re a bug,” she finished, her own smirk on her lips. “I got it, _Spider_ -Man.”

Her hands dropped down to her sides. For a moment, they stood silently, just looking at each other. Her eyes swept over his body a few times, admiring how beautiful his suit was and making sure nothing else had mysteriously gotten stabbed.

He pointed a finger in her direction, bringing her attention back to him. She could still hear the smile on his lips when he spoke. “Next time, don’t run _towards_ the screaming and stabbing, ma’am.”

_It was a solid piece of advice. She probably wasn’t going to follow it, though._

“Try not to get stabbed,” she countered.

_It was a solid piece of advice. He probably wasn’t going to follow that either._

He sent her a stiff nod. With that, he bounded a few steps away, and shot into the air. A string of webs shot out from his wrist; one end latched onto the top of a building and he hung onto the other end, using it to swing himself away and into the darkness.

Clarke watched him swing away, a smile on her lips and butterflies in her chest. Even after he faded into the darkness, she couldn’t take her eyes off the last spot she saw him.

_Holy shit._

She just met Spider-Man.

* * *

**_ii._ **

To Clarke, the long weekend meant _everything_ in that moment. She had a hellish week at work, between insurance companies being difficult to work with and several complicated cases. And while she usually didn’t take the full long weekend off, she did this time because, _damn,_ she needed it.

The day was off to a strange start, to say the least. She woke up to a thunderstorm that promised not to let up for the rest of the day. Somehow, a packet of hand sanitizer exploded in her bag and she had to rescue her wallet before more damage could be done. After that, she couldn’t find an actual umbrella — only an umbrella hat that Wells got her as a joke a few years ago. The final blow was finding out her only rain jacket had stupid miniature pockets; neither her phone or wallet could fit.

Still, she promised her mother she’d meet her for coffee, and she really didn’t want to get on her bad side by being late. She abandoned her purse at home and reluctantly put on the umbrella hat before going on her way. She hoped her stuff wouldn’t get too soaked in the rain while carrying it.

 _Only a few blocks until she got underground._ She could live with that. Then, only a few blocks from the subway to the coffee shop by her mom’s house.

Really, she should’ve known something bad was going to happen that day. All the signs were there. She never believed in greater powers, but, if she did, she wouldn’t hesitate to say the Fates were trying to warn her about something earlier that day.

With the umbrella firmly on her head and her wallet tucked under her arm, she left the warmth of the subway and made her way onto the wet streets. She could see the coffee shop a few blocks up already, and—

“Hey!”

She was shoved forward roughly from behind, sending her stumbling forward. As she struggled to regain her balance, the wallet was ripped out from under her arm.

“ _Hey!”_ she shouted again, more panic to her voice. 

She caught herself on the side of a building, but it wasn’t fast enough to grab her wallet back. The thief was already running away, never having slowed to knock her over.

_Fuck._

She was moving before she was thinking. She surged forward, a wave of adrenaline hitting her. All she could think about was getting that wallet back. Despite her better judgement, she raced after the thief.

“What the hell!?” she shouted. People peeled out of her way as she raced after the thief. “Stop!”

Her feet slapped against the pavement as she sprinted after the thief.

 _Oh, god._ What was she going to do once she caught him? It wasn’t like she knew how to fight someone — she was a doctor, someone who focused on healing people, not hurting them. She didn’t have the slightest clue how to fight someone.

Her determination and stubbornness silenced her thoughts. _That was her wallet and she was going to get it back._

Her eyes never left the thief’s back as she chased him down. She realized how ridiculous she must’ve looked with an umbrella for a hat and fury in her eyes, but she couldn’t care less in that moment.

Clarke could’ve screamed in frustration as the thief made a sharp right hand turn, disappearing from view. She pumped her legs harder and tried to stay calm.

 _What are you going to do?_ she wondered as she sprinted. _You can’t just tackle this guy. Can you?_

_… Can you?_

_No._

She tried to come up with a plan. By the time she reached the back alley he turned down, the best plan she had was to chuck her umbrella hat at the thief and hope it poked him in the eye. That would cause a distraction long enough to get her wallet and get out, right?

Clarke didn’t need to debate it for long. As soon as she rounded the corner, she came upon a very familiar sight. 

Plastered against the wall mid-way up the alley was the thief that had stolen her wallet. He was webbed to the wall, both hands snugly wrapped with webs away from his sides. Standing a few feet away from the plastered thief was a very familiar spider-slash-man in red.

Spider-Man stood beside the criminal, her wallet in her hands. Instantly, the adrenaline bled out of her, leaving her a shaking mess.

_God, it was like deja vu._

She skidded to a stop at the mouth of the alley, her brain short-circuiting _again_.

 _No freaking way._ Out of everyone in the city, what were the chances that he would see the man with her wallet running down the street and go after him? What were the chances that it would be _her_ wallet?

Like she said — if she believed in greater powers, she would’ve sworn this was some sort of twisted fate.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, moving forward. “Thank you! Thank you so much.” She made her way to him, relief making her feel like she was flying. “You’re an actual real-life saviour.”

He pointed to the black spider on his chest. “What can I say, it’s what I do.”

She knew that he didn’t remember who she was. He must’ve saved hundreds of people before. He watched over their whole city, filled with millions of people. _He was Spider-Man for fuck sake._

Still, him pointing to the symbol felt like it could’ve been an inside joke between the two of them. On the other hand, it was almost more hilarious that he went around the city with a finger pointed at the spider, eagerly waiting for a stranger to question him.

“I just… Thank you.” She swallowed thickly. She felt heavy as she came down from the rush of adrenaline and panic. She glanced at his mask and tried to gauge if he remembered her. She couldn’t tell. “I know you probably don’t remember me, bu-”

“Clarke,” he said, interrupting her before she could finish speaking. She clamped her mouth shut instantly. “No, yeah. I remember you.” He took a few steps towards her, closing the gap between them. He glanced down at the brown wallet in his hands. “What? No walking hospital today?”

She blamed her loud laugh on the buzz of adrenaline in her veins. Her hands were shaking by her sides and she couldn’t tell if it felt like she was flying or falling.

“Not today, unfortunately. Didn’t get stabbed, did you?”

He snorted. “Not today, fortunately.” He glanced down at her hands and the mask shifted. “Oh.” He took a step forward, all the teasing vanishing from his voice. “Are you okay?”

Before she could respond, he was taking her hands with his. Now, even if she _wanted_ to respond, she couldn’t; her throat was tight, her mouth was dry, and every logical thought had disappeared from her mind.

His grip was firm, yet gentle, which surprised her. She expected his hands to feel like steal, considering how many criminals he punched and how many walls he climbed. Yet, it felt like he was holding her like he would hold a butterfly — a feather-light touch, just perfect for making her heart race.

She could feel his eyes on her again, examining her. She pulled her gaze away from their joined hands to look at his masked face. Clarke wished that she could _see_ him under that — truly him. She wanted to know if him staring at her was all in her head, or if his gaze was actually resting on her.

She swallowed thickly. “I’m fine.”

They’d been in this position before, a few weeks ago, only their roles were reversed. He must’ve realized the same thing because he let out a breathy laugh.

“You’re shaking.”

“It looks like it.” She echoed his words perfectly from their first meeting.

“Clarke, that’s not fine,” he pointed out. They shared a smile (or, what Clarke _assumed_ was a smile); it reminded her of two old friends sharing a joke. Maybe they were like old friends, in a weird way. “I’m serious though. Are you okay?”

“I’m serious, too,” she pressed. “I’m okay. Just a little shaken.”

Spider-Man nodded before releasing her hands. As soon as his grip disappeared, she felt her heart plummet. Holding his hands brought a nice feeling to her chest. She tried not to wish that she could hold his hand again.

 _It was a losing battle._ As soon as his hands were pulled from hers, she was thinking about holding them again, craving that warmth.

He turned to the criminal webbed to the wall. He pointed a finger in his direction. “Say sorry.”

She almost laughed at the absurdity of this. _Spider-Man was demanding the man, who tried to steal her wallet, apologize to her._

She accepted that she was living in an alternate reality. She was okay with that.

“What!?” The criminal looked even more stunned than she felt. “No fucking way, I’m-” A web shot out and latched onto his mouth, effectively silencing him. 

Spider-Man turned back to her, half-shrugging. “I didn’t think it would _actually_ work, but it was worth a shot.” Once again, he retook her hand, this time using his touch to guide her a few paces away from the criminal.

Her heart skipped a beat at the contact.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Clarke admitted, filling the space. She cringed a little at her admission. She sounded like an overeager fan, or like someone who waited around to be rescued by him — both of which were not the case.

He didn’t seem to mind her admission. “Glad I made such an impression.” He handed her wallet back to her. “I think this belongs to you.”

She smiled softly. “Thanks.”

They stood in silence for a few beats, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Once again, it was as comfortable and easy as sharing a moment with a friend.

He was the one to break the silence. “Nice hat, by the way. I’m extremely jealous.”

She fought down a red flush. _Of course,_ Spider-Man would point out her umbrella hat. 

“Shut up,” she said, her voice teasing. “It’s cute, okay?” Her eyes narrowed. “Plus, you’re the one to talk. You’re wearing a onesie.”

His cheeks puffed out. “Still holding onto that, are you? Should I expect to see the news headlines tomorrow ‘ _Spider-Man Dresses As a Toddler_ ’? I must admit, it has a nice ring to it.”

Clarke knew he was teasing, but something shifted inside of her. Her gaze softened and she didn’t think twice about reaching forward. Her fingers brushed against his forearm.

“No,” she promised, her voice soft. “Never.” _Not from me._

She couldn’t imagine a time where she would ever go to the tabloids about her two encounters with the mysterious Spider-Man. Despite them joking about him being a spider, she knew for a fact that Spider-Man was simply human. He was just like her, just with a few extra tricks.

The fact that he already assumed she’d go to the newspapers about their encounters broke her heart. How many people have done that to him? How many people shared their encounters to the press — both good and bad?

She wondered how many people he had in his life that he could trust. Was there anyone out there that he could be open with, that he could be vulnerable and _human_ with? Or did all those people betray him, just like he assumed she would?

It was something she never thought about before. Her heart ached for him. He didn’t deserve that. He continuously sacrificed everything — his safety, his life — to protect this city, these _people_. 

_He didn’t deserve the world they lived in._ He deserved better. He deserved to fight crime for people that didn’t run to the press with every encounter, and where the newspaper didn’t spin a web of lies about him.

Even though she couldn’t see his face, she had a feeling he was smiling. She could see it in the way his mask moved along his cheeks. She couldn’t help but smile back at him.

Their tender moment was broken by the piercing sound of a siren. Spider-Man pulled away from her sharply and squared his shoulders.

“Good. That’ll be the police to take this guy in.” He gestured to the webbed up criminal behind him. 

Clarke smirked. “Is this going to be our thing?” she wondered out loud. When he cocked his head to this side, she continued. “Back alleys?”

He let out a short laugh. “I hope not.” He took a few steps away from her, moving back towards the criminal. “I did tell you not to run towards screaming, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s expand that to crime in general. Don’t go chasing danger, Clarke.”

She grinned. “Don’t worry. Danger seems to find me.”

They stared at each other for a moment longer before he turned around to face the criminal. She tried to imagine what his smile would look like. Despite not seeing his face, it caused her heart to warm.

One day, she hoped she could see his true smile.

* * *

**_iii._ **

She didn’t know when it started happening, but she saw him everywhere.

Not _actually_ him, but it was close enough.

Everything Spider-Man related caught her eye and made her heart warm, strangely enough. One of the street vendors she walked past was selling Spider-Man masks and she couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her lips. The newspapers were plastered with his photos — once on Saturday, the next on Tuesday, and then one on Thursday — all for stopping a bank robbery in progress.

Then, there was the time a Spider-Man impersonator was dancing on the street just outside the subway station, a small crowd gathered around them. She couldn’t help but stop and watch.

 _The people loved him._ It was as it should be. She’d been thinking about it more often over the last few weeks. She thought about how he risked more than people realized, just to keep them safe.

Did he have another life — a life without the mask? A job? Did he have a family? Friends? Did any of them know how much he was sacrificing every night?

He deserved to have people love him. He was saving lives.

She wondered why he did it. Why did he risk his life every night to ensure the safety of others?

The next time they bumped into each other, she planned to ask him. She planned on getting more insight as to who he was — not just Spider-Man, the superhero, but Spider-Man, the man behind the mask. 

She didn’t expect that next time to be so soon.

Only a week after he rescued her wallet, he dropped down to the sidewalk beside her. She didn’t know where he came from — he practically materialized out of thin air.

She didn’t flinch away when he landed beside her, she just kept walking. He fell into step beside her easily.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re following me,” she pointed out, her voice teasing. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

He was wearing the same blue and red suit he wore the previous times before, his mask still secured around his face. She never realized just how tall he was until this moment. The top of her head only came up below his chin.

“Not quite,” he said, his voice as light as hers was. “I was on patrol, but I saw you and thought I should come and say hi to my favourite alley buddy.”

She smirked at that.

“Alley buddy. I like it.”

It was easy to fall into this banter with him. It was like they’d always known each other, despite meeting for the first time a month ago.

(Despite her not knowing him beyond Spider-Man, the masked vigilante.)

“Need any rescuing today?” he continued to tease her. “I see you’re missing your hat.”

“Not stolen,” she assured him, her cheeks aching from her wide smile. “I don’t think anyone would attempt to steal _that_. One of my friends got it for me as a joke actually.”

“It was cute,” he disagreed. 

Her breathing hitched. Maybe she misunderstood, but _did Spider-Man just call her cute?!_

 _Damn. If that’s the case, maybe I should wear it every day,_ she thought.

“Thanks.”

They fell into a comfortable silence as they continued to walk. _This is nice,_ she thought. She didn’t feel pressured to talk about anything, which lifted a weight from her shoulders. One of the worst things was scrambling to find conversation topics.

This shouldn’t feel so normal, should it? For all intents and purposes, he was a stranger. Sure, she bandaged him up once, and _sure,_ he took out a criminal and returned her wallet, _and sure,_ they had a light banter between them and her stomach felt like it was filled with butterflies every time they were together, but this felt _too_ normal.

She never imagined that she would be taking a walk with Spider-Man. That was weird, right? It was weird that she was standing beside a superhero, but it was even weirder that she didn’t find that strange.

Like usual, he was the first to speak. “The other day, I realized I never said thank you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “For, uh… for _trying_ to rescue me that first day. Before you realized it was me.”

Clarke smirked. “First of all, I wasn’t trying to rescue you,” she corrected. “I was coming to tell you to get lost.”

He puffed out his cheeks. “You thought I was the criminal?”

She snorted. He sounded legitimately offended. “I heard punching and I didn’t know what was going on!” she defended.

He laughed at that. “God, that’s even funnier than I thought.” He turned somber once again. “And thank you for staying to help once I got stabbed.”

“I’m a doctor. Helping people when they get stabbed is kind of my job.” She knew that he was being genuine with his gratitude, so she grew serious. “It’s not a problem. _Really_. I’m glad I helped.”

“And for bandaging it,” he added quickly. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“I don’t have to do anything, just like _you_ don’t have to do anything.” She eyed him carefully. “You choose to be Spider-Man, right? Because you like helping people.”

He was silent for a few moments before he spoke. “Yeah. Of course.”

“That’s like me. I choose to rush towards danger because I like helping people too. I choose to bandage up stab victims and treat illnesses and care for people suffering because _I want to help_.” Clarke forced her eyes forward. “I do what I do because I want to.”

He blew out a long breath of air. “Yeah, me too. I guess we’re similar in that sense.” He lifted up his hands. “I… I have this ability — this _power_ — and I knew I had to use it to help people.” She could sense he was wrestling with his words. “When you can do the things that I can, but you don’t… Then all the bad things that happen, it’s on _me._ If I can stop it, but I don’t, then…” He shrugged. “There wasn’t another way my life could’ve gone. This was the only choice.”

She sucked in a quick breath at that. It broke her heart that he seemed to carry the world on his shoulders — that he seemed to carry so much guilt.

In purely Clarke fashion, she attempted to make light of the situation.

“Only choice,” she echoed. “That’s an oxymoron.”

He let out a soft chuckle at that. Hearing it made her heart skip a beat.

“I guess you’re right.” She felt his eyes in her again. “Thank you, Clarke. For it all.”

“What are friends for?” she asked. She realized a second too late what she said — she gave away her feelings towards him.

Now he knew. She thought of him as a friend, even though they barely knew each other.

(Yet, that didn’t feel right. She _did_ know him. She understood him better than she understood most people, regardless of the time they knew each other.)

He didn’t seem to catch her slip, or, if he did, he didn’t bring it up. Instead, he slowed his walk and glanced around them wearily. “I guess I should’ve expected this.”

Clarke glanced around too and came to the startling realization that people were _watching_ them. Dozens of people had stopped and were openly staring at them as they walked.

Her mouth ran dry. _Shit_. She wasn’t expecting that.

(Really, she should have. After all, she was walking the streets with Spider-Man.)

“I should go before people gain the courage to ask for a photo-op.” He stopped walking completely and turned to her, and she followed suit. “It was nice talking to you, Clarke.”

“We don’t have to say goodbye yet. You can come to my place.”

She didn’t know where the courage came from, but the words were out of her mouth before she really considered them. She didn’t regret the offer though. There was something about him that she was drawn to. She wanted to get to know him better.

“I- uh. What?” He stumbled over his words. 

Clarke did the same. “Yeah, I mean… You know. To talk.” She forced a shaky smile out. “If not, that’s fine, but I just…” She shrugged.

“Yeah. Yeah.” He blew out a quick breath of air. “I’d really that, actually.” He gave her a pointed look. “But don’t expect me to take my shoes off at the door.”

She smirked. The tension had instantly evaporated, leaving her with a bubbly feeling. 

“Right. The onesie.”

They both laughed like old friends. While she chuckled, she kept an eye on him, watching how free he looked when he laughed. He threw his head back and grabbed his sides, letting the joy completely overtake him.

_He was stunning._

She tried to imagine how his lips would move when he laughed or how his eyes would sparkle. She knew that her imagination wouldn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

As he left to meet her back at her apartment, she couldn’t help but think about her earlier words.

_What are friends for?_

Friends.

(Why did she feel like she wanted to be more than that?)

* * *

**_iv._ **

This was the first time she appeared on the front page of the newspaper.

Clarke held the paper in her hands, an uneasy feeling growing in her stomach. 

_SPIDER-MAN SLACKING ON DUTY, MEETS WITH MYSTERY GIRL WHILE ELDERLY WOMAN ROBBED UP-TOWN_

Below the headline was a large photo of the two of them. It was grainy, most likely being taken on a phone. The newspaper was poorly coloured, but the red of Spider-Man’s suit was still vibrant.

Her eyes zeroed in on her face. She was smiling shyly at something he said, and for the life of her, she couldn’t recall what it was. Her cheeks were faintly coloured red — a blush that was highlighted from the red of his suit.

It was surprising to see how encaptured she was by Spider-Man at that moment. She was looking at him with affection in her eyes and a smile on her lips. They looked exactly how she felt with him — comfortable, relaxed, and familiar. It was clear that this wasn’t their first meeting.

 _Shit._ While it wasn’t like she specifically wanted their interactions to be kept secret, she wasn’t sure about this. 

She never expected to be photographed by someone she didn’t know, and it being done without her permission. It made her skin crawl, and it felt like something private had been invaded. 

Clarke also felt sick by how the headline was twisting things. They were turning something innocent — like two friends hanging out — into something sinister. They were piling the blame on Spider-Man for this mugging, just because he didn’t stop it? Why weren’t the people _doing_ the mugging being blamed? How was it in any way _his_ fault?

Fuck, she knew how he was going to feel. He told her just yesterday that he felt responsible for the bad things that happened in the city, because he knew he could stop them. To him, inaction was just as worse as the crime.

She bunched the newspaper up and chucked it onto her coffee table, no longer having the stomach to read it. It landed beside her morning coffee, which was growing cold and now looked unappealing.

Clarke really should’ve known this was going to happen. Spider-Man was photographed every time he was in public, and those photos were plastered all over the media. They were walking in a crowded street during the day, like it was completely normal. 

_It wasn’t._

He was a superhero dressed for battle. She was a doctor — an unnamed face. Of course people would photograph them. Of course people would speculate. If she wasn’t the one in the photos, she was sure she’d be speculating too.

She already received a frantic call from her mother. That was actually the reason she woke up.

_“Why didn’t you tell me you were making the newspaper!?”_

That got her up fairly quickly. She skipped over the stage of awakening where things were groggy and fuzzy and the world seemed okay.

_“Why didn’t you tell me you knew Spider-Man? You shouldn’t hang out with him, dear. He’s trouble.”_

Clarke could feel the headache from earlier coming back by just remembering what her mom nagged her about. She loved her mom, don’t get her wrong, but she overstepped often.

Her phone vibrated from an incoming text. She glanced at her screen, already fearing the worst.

 **Wells:** **  
**_Why are you on the TV at work?_

She groaned. Of course they’d be covering her story — or lack thereof — on television. Apparently there wasn’t anything more important to be reporting on, like all the crime Spider-Man had stopped, or the string of shootings in the east, or anything of actual importance.

Her phone vibrated again.

 **Wells:** **  
**_Please tell me youre still alive._

 **Wells:** **  
**_Please tell me you didnt get sucked into an alternate dimension._

 **Wells:** **  
**_Or idk swarmed by reporters?_

Clarke groaned. This was not what she was expecting.

 **Clarke:** **  
**_I’m fine._

 **Clarke:** **  
**_Apparently who I stand beside is very important._

 **Wells:** **  
**_It is important if who youre standing beside is_ _  
__freakin spider man_

 **Wells:** **  
**_You never mentioned that you knew him?_ __  
_Why am I finding out through the news?_ __  
This feels like a big deal

Her phone buzzed again before she could respond to Wells.

 **Jasper:** **  
**_You’re dating spider man!!!!!!_

 **Jasper:** **  
**_Clarke!!!!!!_

 **Jasper:** **  
**_Holy shit!!!!!!!_

Clarke turned off her phone and tossed it to the side. She stifled a groan with the palm of her hand. This didn’t feel real.

Before she could work the courage back up to read the full story in the newspaper, there was a sharp knock at her window.

She glanced behind her and caught sight of a familiar red. Spider-Man was perched on the outside of her windowsill four storeies up. Despite the chaos that enveloped her life, she couldn’t help but smile at his appearance. Something about him made her feel like she was floating on the clouds.

Clarke opened the window for him and stepped to the side as he climbed in.

“This is ridiculous,” he said as soon as he was in her apartment. His voice was tight and she could see the muscles in his jaw rippling. “I’m pissed off.” Clarke was stunned into silence. She’d never heard him sounding so upset before.

The superhero dropped to his feet on the floor and lifted a familiar paper up for her to see. The grainy photo of the two of them on their walk that day before stared back at her.

“You saw it,” she gathered.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. She noticed he did that whenever he was stressed or overwhelmed. She had the sudden urge to reach forward and brush her fingers over his forearm in comfort, but she hung back.

“I’m so sorry,” Spider-Man said, his voice genuine and desperate. He looked up at her. She tried to imagine his expression in that moment, but couldn’t. “I never expected this. I should’ve expected this. I—”

He turned away from her to begin pacing. She stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out what would be the best way to comfort him. He was clearly upset, and for good reason too. The press was blaming him for a robbery that had nothing to do with him. People snapped photos of him every chance they got.

It was a lot of pressure for him. She couldn’t imagine what he was going through — what he had to go through every day.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” she assured him, her voice calm. “It isn’t your fault.” It was the truth. Whoever took that photo was to blame, not them. They did nothing wrong. Whoever robbed that woman was to blame, not him. 

“They have your face,” he hissed. He gestured to the paper still clutched in his hands. “Do you know how dangerous that is? To be identified as someone I know?”

Clarke shifted on her feet. She never thought of that. Her first thoughts were of _him_ and how he would feel to be torn up by the press; she never even thought of herself in this whole mess.

He continued pacing. “I don’t even know what to do,” he admitted after a long moment. “Whoever took that photo… they’re putting _you_ in danger, Clarke. By plastering your face all over social media, they painted a target on your back.” He was on a roll now. The words flowed easily from his mouth. “When people figure out who you are — and, they will, by the way — reporters _always_ figure things out — people will be at your front door. They’ll show up to your work. They’ll be calling you and your family, hounding you for answers you don’t have.”

Clarke chewed on her lip. The heavy feeling in her gut was growing by the second. “That’s why you keep your identity hidden? To stay out of the media?” she pressed. She never asked him that question before, but it had been burning on her mind for the last month.

He stilled for a brief second. He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “Among other reasons.” He flexed his fingers and continued to pace. “It won’t just stop with reporters and fans — there are dangerous people out there; people who want to hurt me for what I’ve done. There are people out there who will want to use any weakness and anything I care about against me.” He glanced at her. “They’ll want to use you against me, Clarke.”

She swallowed thickly. She knew she should’ve been more terrified, but she connected the pieces of what he was saying and it left her breathless.

_She was his weakness. He cared about her._

Clarke felt like she had been punched in the gut by this realization. _She cared about him too._ When did that happen?

Spider-Man was pacing again. “The worst part about this is that you didn’t do anything! You’re… human. You didn’t ask for this.” He shook his head. “This isn’t fair.”

This time, she followed her instincts and reached for him. Her hand grasped his tightly, grounding them both. She could feel his hands shaking beneath hers.

She was thrown by the intimacy that came with this touch. She held his hand before, but this was different. They were both broken and vulnerable in this moment, and the simplicity of a human touch caused tethers to form between them. Their connection stole the breath from her lungs.

“You didn’t ask for this either,” she pointed out, her voice soft. She examined the surface of the fabric of his mask closely, looking for any minor changes with his expression. “You told me the first day we met — you’re human, too. Just because you save people and risk your life every time you put on this suit doesn’t mean you _asked_ for this.” Her thumb ran over the back of his hand soothingly.

He seemed to deflate at that. His shoulders sagged forward and his grip tightened on her hand. “Fuck,” he swore. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Nothing.” She smiled. “We don’t do anything.”

“Bu—”

“There’s nothing to do,” she promised him. “I’ll just tell people who ask me that you helped get my wallet back and you were walking me home, which isn’t exactly a straight up lie.” It was easier to smile now that a clear plan was in place. “How many other people are pictured with you and nothing bad ever happens to them? This will blow over.”

They were both still for a moment, each finding strength in the other’s touch. Clarke fought hard to keep the smile off her face and to stop her heart from racing. She didn’t know when it happened, but just being around him made her feel like she was floating. Holding hands with him made warmth spread across her chest. Watching him smile at her made butterflies erupt in the pit of her stomach. 

She didn’t know how much time had passed before he let out a breathless laugh. Spider-Man took another step forward, his arm brushing against hers.

“You know,” he said, his voice rawer than before, “I came here to help calm _you_ down, not the other way around.”

She grinned and inched towards him. “You helped,” she told him. “Just seeing you was enough to help.”

 _God,_ she wanted to cringe from how lame she was. She’d always been bad at flirting, and she was really regretting not working on that skill more.

Moving on pure impulse, Clarke moved forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She had to stretch onto the tips of her toes to hug him properly. As soon as her arms were around his shoulders, he froze, like he wasn’t quite sure what was going on. He only hesitated a second. Then, as surely and suddenly as she moved, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her flush to him.

Clarke pressed her nose to his shoulder and let her eyes close. Being held in his arms was even better than what she imagined. She melted to his grasp and felt entirely safe. _His arms felt like home._

***

Later that day, he sat on the opposite couch to her. While this wasn’t the first time he was in her apartment, it didn’t make the image of Spider-Man lounging on her couch any less funny. He looked so out of place, yet having him in her home felt so right.

It was easy to talk to him. Despite never seeing his true face, she felt like she knew him better than anyone in the world. They were similar souls; all they wanted to do was keep people safe.

He was exquisite. She could tell he loved with his full heart. He was passionate about swinging around New York saving people. She could listen to him talk about what he loved for hours. As he spoke, she tried to imagine what the joy in his eyes would look like.

 _She wished she knew what his eyes looked like in the first place._ She wondered what colour they were, and how they danced when he told a funny story, or how they sparkled when he talked about something he loved. She wanted to see how his cheeks dipped with each smile he stole, and how his lips moved with each smirk. 

She wanted to know everything about him — both the things he was proud of and the things he regretted. She wanted to know who he was beyond Spider-Man.

_She wanted to know the man behind the mask._

During a lull in the conversation, she spoke. “Earlier, you said that the media was only part of the reason you keep your identity hidden.” She could see tension creep into his shoulders, and she almost regretted bringing the subject back up. “What’s the rest of the reason?”

He blew out a long breath of air and let his head roll backwards. Finally, he spoke. “In part, it’s because of the media. Even before I could make a decision of _who_ I wanted to be — who I wanted Spider-Man to be, that is — they were already spinning a story for me. They named me, and they plastered me across newspapers, and they _told_ people who I was. I didn’t even get to show that. They got one photo of me, and they already labelled me vigilante and dangerous.” He glanced in her direction. 

“What would they do with _me_ — the real me — if I ever let that out? Would they spin a story of who I was before I could show it? Would they name me? Create an identity for me?” He shook his head. “I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to lose myself that way. I didn’t want them to control who I am — who I _truly_ am. They already have half of me; I didn’t want to give them the other half.

“The other reason is because of my family.” Those words shocked Clarke. She had no idea that he had a family. They never spoke of anything outside of who he was — who Spider-Man was. “It’s like I explained earlier; there are people out there who want to hurt me. They want to use my weaknesses — the people I care about — against me. I don’t want to put anyone in danger, especially not the people I love. If the public doesn’t know who I truly am under this mask, then they won’t be able to do that. I am keeping the people I love safe.”

Clarke swallowed thickly. That was a huge responsibility for anyone to bear.

“Nobody knows who you are?” she guessed.

He was silent for a long moment, grappling with his words. The tension in his shoulders bled away to exhaustion.

“No. Nobody.” He ran his hands over his face.

“Not even your family?”

“No. They couldn’t know. The world can’t know who I truly am under the mask to keep my family safe, but it worked both ways. If they knew my other identity — Spider-Man — they’d never be safe.” He sounded exhausted. “It’s for the best that they’re kept in the dark — about it all.”

Clarke understood bearing it all so others wouldn’t have to. She understood self-sacrifice, especially for the people she loved. She understood that it was easier to live with cutting off slivers of her soul than putting people she loved in danger.

He put the safety of his family on his shoulders; he protected them, and she doubted they even knew. They didn’t know how much of his soul — his _humanity_ — he was sacrificing to keep them safe.

“Doesn’t it get lonely?”

She understood that, too. She understood what it meant to be alone in the world. She understood what it meant to feel like nobody around her truly knew her.

“Of course,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

Clarke’s heart ached for him. She wanted to move to him, to comfort him. She wanted to take this pain away from him; she’d gladly bear it if it meant he didn’t have to.

“It’s part of the job description,” he said after a moment. “Being a superhero means being alone. I wouldn’t want to put someone through that — making them wonder if I was safe and if I was coming home. I know that’s what my sister would do; she’d just worry.” He laughed softly, like what he was saying wasn’t completely heartbreaking. “Plus, spending most of my free time rescuing cats from trees in red spandex isn’t exactly good for any relationship.”

She knew he was trying to make a joke and lighten the mood, but she couldn’t bring herself to smile. 

“You have a sister,” she said, picking up on his words. “I’m an only child.”

“O is a handful,” he said, his tone growing lighter. “We were really close growing up.”

Clarke’s smile came easier. “Any other family?”

“No.” She could feel the atmosphere in the room shift. “I never knew my dad, and it’s the same thing with O’s dad. We share a mom, but she… she died a few years ago.”

Her heart felt like it was ripping in two. This man in front of her had gone through so much. The world took so much from him, and he kept giving more and more.

“Even before that, our mom wasn’t around too often. She had two kids and lived in Queens — she had to work several jobs just to make ends meet. I took care of O as we grew up.” He sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. She was at a loss for words. She didn’t know what she could say to make it better — she wasn’t sure if there were any words out there that could make this better. “I lost my dad a few years ago,” Clarke added after a moment. “Losing a parent is hard.”

She couldn’t imagine how hard it was for him. Not only did he lose his mother, but he never knew his father. When he took on the guardian role of his sister, the relationship between the two of them changed. In a way, he lost her, too.

“Family isn’t something I really do,” he admitted. “O and I aren’t close anymore.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Which is completely my fault, by the way.”

Clarke chewed on her lip. “What happened?”

“I left.” His words were simple, but they left a thousand questions in her mind. “I wasn’t always like this, you know. I wasn’t always Spider-Man; I didn’t always have these powers.”

The admission shocked Clarke. Usually, he stayed away with anything to do with the details behind Spider-Man, and she understood why. Him voluntarily admitting this felt like a big step.

“When I got these powers and decided I wanted to do something good with them, I pulled away. I didn’t want people to associate her with Spider-Man — for the same reason as I said earlier; I have enemies that are aching for a way to get to me. It was also to distance her from me.” 

_He left her to protect her._ God, it was such a _him_ thing to do. He willingly gave up everything to protect the people he loved. 

He laughed without humour and continued talking. “I didn’t want to see her get hurt, and I knew that was what would happen if I died while doing this. I knew what I was doing was going to be dangerous. If she already hated me, then it wouldn’t hurt as much when I died.”

 _Her chest flared with pain._ His choice of words gave so much away, and it broke her. 

He _expected_ to die while fighting as Spider-Man. 

“You know,” she said slowly. “Sometimes, it’s okay to prioritize yourself.” He looked confused. “All I mean is that you shouldn’t have to give up everything in your life. You shouldn’t have to pull away from your sister to keep her safe. You shouldn’t have to worry about keeping _me_ away to keep me safe.”

“That’s just how it is.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she told him. “People will always want to hurt you for all the good things you’ve done. You shouldn’t have to stay away from people to keep them safe.” She was looking anywhere but at him as she spoke, afraid she was stepping out of bounds with him. “You don’t have to shoulder that responsibility — not with people who love you.”

“My sister, my responsibility,” he said. “It's _all_ my responsibility.”

She wished it wasn’t. She wished that he wasn’t prepared to die to keep New York safe. She wished that he didn’t push people away to protect them. She wished that he had an easier life; someone as good as him deserved that.

“Why don’t you just give it up? You have to sacrifice so much for this; your family, your friends, your life, your safety.”

“Why don’t you stop being a doctor?” he countered. “Why did you become a doctor in the first place? It was because you worked hard, you had a gift for it, and you _know_ you need to use it to save others — anything else be damned.” She nodded. That was exactly how it was for her. “I’m sure you had to give up things on your way to this, right? You had to stay in on weekends to study? You lost friends because you couldn’t be as attentive as they needed? Relationships failed because they didn’t understand your commitment to your dreams?”

She licked her lips. “Yeah.” It was almost spooky how accurate he was.

He leaned back. “That’s like me. We’re the same, Clarke. You and I. No matter what happens to me, I will never regret doing what I did to bring me here. Even if I only save one person, all of that is worth it.”

It had been a stupid question, she realized. He was right — even if she only saved one person, it was worth it. She’d take on anything — any pain, any struggle — just so someone else wouldn’t have to.

_They were the same._

“You’re right,” she said after a minute. “I would never give up what I have, even though it hasn’t been a smooth path to get here.” She glanced at him pointedly. “I just don’t like seeing you struggling. You deserve happiness. You deserve to be close with your family and to have friends. You deserve to walk down the street without being photographed. You shouldn’t have to fear opening the newspaper every morning, wondering what shitty story they wrote about you today.” She smiled softly. “You give up so much. You shouldn’t have to give more.”

_I don’t want you to give up on me._

Consequences be damned; she wanted to be by his side. She wanted to talk to him until the sun came up. She wanted to bear her soul to him. She wanted to learn everything about him, and love him for everything that made him who he was.

_Don’t push me away to keep me safe._

She didn’t plan on saying that out loud, but the words left her mouth without a second thought. 

They stared at each other for a long moment. Clarke’s world stood still as she tried to piece together what she said.

_Shit._

A panic had settled in her chest, making her heart freeze. What was she thinking?

Just as she was on the verge of panicking, he shifted forward, leaning towards her. “I won’t if you don’t want me too,” he answered after a moment. 

A tension that she didn’t know she had drained from her body.

“I don’t,” she said, her voice small. She blinked rapidly, thrown from how emotional she felt.

They never spoke about this before. All of their previous conversations were filled with jokes and barely scratched the surface. _This was different._ It felt like she peered into his soul, and him with hers.

She wanted this. She wanted to see more of his soul — _his beautiful soul_. She wanted to learn about his regrets and his fears. She wanted to learn about his dreams and his hopes.

 _She was lost to him._ She could feel it within herself. 

_She was falling for him_. 

“Then I won’t,” he promised her.

His eyes were locked on her face for a long moment, examining it closely. She kept her eyes locked on his mask, too, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

Then, in one fluid motion, his free hand went to the only seam on his suit around his neck. His gloved fingers hooked under the fabric of the mask and—

“Wait,” she said, reaching forward to catch his hand before he could tug the mask free. She could see an inch of skin between the mask and the collar and it made her heart race. 

_He was going to take his mask off._

She didn’t know why, but her hands were shaking and the blood rushed through her ears.

“What?” he asked, his voice breathy. “It’s okay, I—”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You should do this on your own terms, not because you feel like you need to.”

 _Not because we talked about how you push everyone away and I asked you not to do the same with me._ She felt like he was pulling his mask off, as if to prove that he was going to stand by his promise not to push her away.

She didn’t want him to make this decision rashly. She didn’t want him to do this just because he thought it would make her feel better.

Clarke told him as much. “I want you to tell me who you are when you’re ready, not when you think you need to tell me.” His fingers loosened on the fabric around his neck. “When you tell me, I want it to be because you trust me and that you _want_ to tell me because of that trust.”

His hand turned in her grasp and his fingers brushed with hers.

Her heart fluttered in her chest. For a brief moment, she thought he was going to rip off his mask and kiss her. 

_She tried not to be disappointed when he didn’t._

* * *

**_v._ **

As Clarke made her way home from work, she clutched the handle of her umbrella. The rain was nearly horizontal from the strong winds. It pounded against the ground and splashed back onto her legs.

She could feel the water soaking through her sweater already. Dammit, why didn’t she just bring her raincoat to work?

The last few weeks of her life had been a mix of chaos and serenity. At first, whenever she was in the public, people would recognize her.

_That’s the Spider-Man girl._

That name and the rumours made her teeth grit together.

Those first weeks back to work after the release of their photo, patients recognized her. Wells had a million and one questions, but he laid off when he noticed how off-put she was. Jasper begged her for an autograph until Monty threatened to stop talking to him if he didn’t stop.

Luckily, things had quieted down since. Some patients still stared at her for a long time, but she doubted any of them placed her as _the Spider-Man girl_. Her coworkers didn’t mention it as often. Her friends had all but dropped the subject.

Life was good. It was normal.

(Normal, except for the fact she hung out with Spider-Man every second night.)

(Really, though, that _was_ her new normal.)

The two of them fell into a pattern. He’d usually make his way to her apartment when she wasn’t working, and it was nice. Even if he’d stop by for a few minutes, it was a bright part of her day — something she looked forward to coming home to. They’d take a few stolen minutes to catch up before he had to get back to patrol, or they’d sit and talk late into the night if they both had the time. She was so used to him sliding into her apartment that she’s begun to leave the window unlocked for him.

More than a few times, she’d come home after a long day at the hospital to dinner sitting on her kitchen counter, a note attached to the plate.

- _your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man_

He owned her heart and soul. Every passing day, she fell more and more in love with the man under the mask.

A particularly strong gust of wind came from behind her and the umbrella lurched out of her hands. She let out a gasp as the cool rain splashed against the back of her neck.

The umbrella went tumbling away from her, the wind carrying it through the puddles. She was left standing in the middle of the street in the pouring rain. It only took a handful of seconds for her to get completely soaked.

 _Shit._ A chill seeped into her bones — one that she felt worming its way to her core. She already knew the only thing that would solve this would be a hot shower and a cup of tea.

Clarke took off down the street as soon as she got over the shock of the rain, racing after the rolling black umbrella. She sputtered, trying to breathe through the downpour.

Her hair had come loose from its braid due to the rain and each strand clung to her skin. Her clothing stuck to every curve of her body. She could barely keep her eyes open through the running water.

The dirty water splashed up as she raced down the street, soaking through her shoes and soaking her socks. This night was getting worse and worse.

As if the universe wanted to prove her right, the wind picked up and changed directions. She was blasted from the left side. She watched helplessly as her umbrella turned the corner and rolled out of sight.

She was tempted to abandon the chase. It wasn’t like the umbrella had any value to her — sentimental or otherwise. She was already soaked; would it really make a difference if she got the umbrella now?

Clarke continued to run after it, all logic lost. She blew around the corner and caught sight of a very familiar shade of red.

Spider-Man was leaning against the wall of the alley, the black umbrella folded in his grasp. Upon seeing her, he let out a loud and free laugh — one that made his shoulder shake and turn his face to the sky.

Her bad mood instantly disappeared upon seeing him. His laugh was infectious.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she teased.

“Oh my god,” he let out between laughs. “What are you doing here!?”

She was right when they met that second time — back alleys _were_ their thing.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She closed the distance between them, the smile on her face only growing. She had to blink frequently to keep the rain away from her eyes. 

“You look like a wet rat,” he commented as soon as she was closer to him. He poked her side with the end of her umbrella.

“I bet you look like this too, under that mask.” She tried to snatch the end of the umbrella, but he was quicker and pulled it away. She narrowed her eyes playfully. 

“What happened to your hat?” he asked, referencing the umbrella hat that she hid away in her closet, never to see the light again. “I bet that wouldn’t have blown away on you.”

“I’m getting soaked,” she pointed. “Don’t torture me.” She kicked at a puddle of water between them, splashing water onto his legs.

He pointed at her jokingly. “You don’t want to start a war with me,” he teasingly threatened. “I’m vicious.”

“I’m sure you are,” she commented with a laugh. She shuddered as a gust of wind came from behind her.

Spider-Man must’ve seen her shiver. His hand dropped to his sides and he tilted his head slightly. “You're cold?”

“You’re not?” She didn’t know why she bothered asking. He pointed down to the spider emblem on his chest, reminding her of his superpowers. “Right. Of course. Lucky.”

He moved the umbrella under his arm and opened his arms. “Come here?”

She closed the distance between them and melted to his side. Even though his suit was soaked, she could feel his body heat through the material. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her snuggly to his form.

“Are you ready to go home? I can give you a ride?”

She leaned away from him so she could glance at his face. “A ride?”

He loosened on hand from her waist and showed her his wrist, where she knew his webs came from. “Not a conventional ride. Faster.”

 _Swinging._ He was offering to take her to swing across the city back to her apartment.

She couldn’t fight the smile off her face, nor could she push the giddy feeling down.

“You won’t drop me, will you?” she teased.

He surprised her by tenderly sweeping some of her loose hair away from her face. His hand lingered against her temple and her heart skipped a beat. “Never. That’s a promise.”

She believed him.

He locked one arm around her torso and she did the same around his neck. He shot a web onto the top floor of a nearby building and kicked off the ground.

Clarke let out a startled yelp as her feet left the ground. Her grip around his shoulder tightened and her pulse skyrocketed.

_Holy shit._

He let out a loud laugh at her surprised reaction and propelled them forward. The world was a blur around her.

_It felt like she was flying._

The rain still pelted against her skin, but it barely registered. The wind whipped wildly and rushed through her ears, masking the sounds of the bustling city below them. The buildings were a blur of brown and grey; they were moving so fast that it was dizzying.

It felt like they were in a different world, just for a moment. New York faded away in every way possible.

 _It was only them._ The only thing part of her world was his warmth against her side, and his breath beside her ear, and the rain running down her back, and the joy in her heart.

She let out a blissful laugh and loosened her grip around his shoulders the slightest bit. She felt free. Her pulse was racing and all the air had been stolen from her lungs.

_She felt alive._

She couldn’t believe Spider-Man was able to do this everyday, whenever he wanted. 

It felt like the weight of the world was off her shoulders. It felt like the world was theirs to conquer, like it was their life to live.

She’d never felt like this before, and she couldn’t have been happier that she was experiencing it with him.

It was thrilling and terrifying flying through the city. He navigated the streets well and moved slower than he usually did, most likely to keep her from screaming. His arm was firm around her, and she was so sure he wouldn’t drop her.

She trusted him with her life. She trusted him with everything.

 _She’d never felt like this before_.

All too soon, she could see her apartment in the distance. She glanced up at his face for the last few blocks, her eyes studying the thin fabric.

It wasn’t the first time she wondered what his face looked like, or how his eyes danced with happiness. It also wasn’t the first time that she dreamed of him reaching down and pressing his lips against hers.

Up close, she could see how his expression changed, even just the slightest bit. She could see how his lips moved under the mask when he spoke, and how the muscles in his jaw tensed as he swung from building to building, and how the fabric shifted when she could tell he was smiling.

She could feel every movement of his body too; how his muscles flexed as they moved along the streets; she could feel the steady beat of his heart under the palm of her hand.

Flying through the streets in his arms was something she’d never forget.

He landed on the side of her building and nudged open her window. A gust of wind blew in a wave of rain, splattering on the tile inside.

All words had escaped her. Even if she knew what she wanted to say, she doubt she’d be able to.

He climbed through the window gracefully and landed in her living room. Hesitantly, she placed both her feet off the ground, pulling away from his hold the slightest bit.

She couldn’t look away from him. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t think.

_This wonderful, extraordinary, breathtaking man had stolen her heart._

“You okay?” he asked, his voice close to a whisper. She forced herself to take a step away from him.

“That was amazing,” she breathed. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so widely. “Holy shit. You do that every day?”

She could tell he was smiling too. “Every day, every night.” He was looking at her intently and his hand lingered on her elbow. She never wanted this moment to end; it felt like a bubble of paradise, standing beside him, sharing this moment with him. “You should come with me more often.”

Her smile softened as her heart warmed. “I’d love to.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Clarke was tempted to reach for him again, but she held back. She wanted to tell him everything — how her heart yearned to be around him, how he set off butterflies in her stomach, how he owned her heart and soul, how she trusted him more than words could ever say.

_But she didn’t._

Another gust of wind brought in more rain, adding to the puddle on the floor.

“Shit,” Spider-Man swore. He lifted his foot up and watched as water dripped off his suit. “I should go. You already have a mess to clean.”

Still on a high from that flight, she let out another breathless laugh. He stared at her for a moment longer before nodding and moving back out the window.

“Goodnight, Clarke.” 

With that, he moved back out the window. As he swung out to the side of the building, sense rushed back into her.

“Hey!” she called, moving forward. She managed to catch him before he disappeared completely from sight. “Wait!”

He hung upside down from the exterior wall, rain running off the tip of his nose and down his mask. She stuck her head out the window to meet him part way, instantly getting soaked again. She blinked rapidly to see him clearly. His face was inches away from hers and every cell in her body was telling her to close the distance.

She didn’t know why she called him back. _Really, she didn’t._

They stood inches away from each other with rain running down both of their faces. Clarke’s eyes swept over his mask and she tried her hardest to read him.

She let the silence consume them. The room was filled with the rushing of the rain. Her breath came out in gasps and her mouth was incredibly dry.

_She wanted to kiss him._

Her eyes flicked up to where his lips were behind the mask. Faintly, she could see their outline through the fabric. Her eyes travelled downwards, sweeping the slopes of his face.

“I just… I wanted to tell you, thank you,” she said, her voice breathy. “For today. For everything.”

She could see his lips move into a grin under the fabric. “You don’t have to thank me, Clarke.” 

_Fuck,_ he said her name with so much tenderness that it felt like she was splitting in two.

“You’re amazing,” she mumbled. She shifted forward the slightest bit, moving further out the window. She could feel the rain pelting on her shoulders now. Her eyes never left the front of his mask. 

“I’d do anything for you,” he said, his voice holding that same softness as before. He stretched his arm out, his hand moving to cup her cheek. She leaned into his touch, her heart aching with affection for him.

He was unlike anyone she’d ever met. He was brighter than the sun and carried so much warmth that she _felt_ it. He was passionate about everything he did, and so selfless, and so _good._ Damn, he didn’t even know how _good_ he was either.

He tried his best, no matter what. He tried his best to help people, even if they didn’t deserve it. He gave everything his all. He wanted to help people, no matter what the cost was to him. 

She wasn’t in love with him — not yet, maybe not ever — but her heart ached for him. Every time he was around, it felt like she was flying and falling at the same time. It was exhilarating and beautiful.

He made her happy, more so than she ever imagined someone would. She understood him, just like he understood her. He understood her _need_ to save people, her commitment to her work, her tendency to sacrifice things for the people she loved. 

Her hand came up to rest against his masked cheek, mirroring his touch on her. After a brief moment, his free hand came up to rest against the back of hers. He guided her touch upwards, moving towards his chest. His fingers grasped the edge of his mask and tugged, causing the hem to lift.

Her heart was lodged in her throat when she realized what he was asking. “But—”

His thumb swept her skin again, silencing her. “You said when I trust you,” he reminded her. His voice cracked with emotion. “I trust you, Clarke.”

She didn’t dare move her hand. This was going to be on his terms and she didn’t want to jeopardize that. 

He must’ve realized she wasn’t going to make the first move. With her hand still under his, he slid the mask up his face, slowly revealing more and more skin. Her breath was caught in her chest and her mouth had run dry.

_He was stunning._

He stopped lifting the mask when the hem came to rest just below his nose. The first thing she noticed was how flawless his skin looked. Between the water droplets running down his neck and the moonlight reflecting, she could’ve sworn _he_ was glowing. Freckles dotted his cheeks and neck like constellations in the sky and, _damn,_ she wanted to map each one.

 _And his lips._ Her eyes zeroed in on them and she instinctively licked her own. There was a small scar on his upper lip and she couldn’t help but wonder how it got there.

 _She really wanted to kiss him._ She wanted to close the gap between them and meet him halfway. She wanted

Her eyes ran over the remaining fabric, searching for his eyes beneath the mask. She didn’t question why he left half of his face covered because _she understood._ This was something huge to him; keeping himself — his true self — separate from the identity that came with the mask was important to him. It was so important that he lost his family and kept himself isolated for years.

She’d never rush him. She’d never ask him to pull the mask off. She’d never let herself feel hurt over the fact he wanted to keep a piece of himself hidden away, because she got it. He could take it as slow as he wanted, and she’d be perfectly happy.

Her voice was breathless. “You’re stunning,” she mumbled, her eyes drifting to his lips again.

“Says you.” His voice was just as low as hers was. “You’re beautiful, Clarke.”

For a brief moment, she didn’t think they’d do it. She didn’t think they’d close the remaining inches of space between them.

Then, they moved together, like two magnets drawn to each other. They both moved forward, closing the gap between each other. When her lips met his, she melted against his touches.

She could taste water on her tongue from the rain running down both their faces. His hand was warm on her face and his fingers were tender in her hair. Her heart felt like it was shattering from how much affection coursing through her in that moment.

When they both pulled away, their chests were heaving. She rested her forehead against his chest and closed her eyes, savouring the moment.

She never wanted this night to end. She didn’t want to go to sleep, too afraid that she would wake up and realize this was a dream. Clarke could spend eternity with her lips against his, her hands running against his cheeks, her heart bursting from her emotions.

She wanted to spend forever with him; learning every quirk and every inch of him. She wanted to spend forever by his side, learning to love him, growing with him.

“I’m so into you, just so you know,” she whispered. The words felt too heavy to speak any louder; she knew they would change whatever they had going. 

_That was why she called him back._ Because he had to know. He had to know that she was falling for him.

“Clarke,” he said again, his voice lower than before. His thumb swept over her jaw, sending goose bumps down her arms. His laugh was one without humor. “You don’t even know who I am.”

She pulled away from his embrace and sought his eyes. “On the contrary, I know _exactly_ who you are.”

He let out a breathless laugh. “ _Fuck._ ” He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. “I really like you too.”

The corners of his lips tugged upwards into a smile — a smile that made her heart skip a beat. This was the first smile of his that she truly got to see without the mask in the way. It was stunning and just as enticing as his laugh.

_She was right._

What she imagined didn’t hold a candle to reality. 

* * *

**_\+ i._ **

Clarke didn’t expect for her hands to be covered in blood that Friday night.

It was one of the first Fridays that she had off in a long time. Usually, when the end of the week rolled around, she was swamped with paperwork and bookkeeping. It was a regular occurrence for her to stay at the office past sunset.

_That was how she met Spider-Man the first time._

She was balancing a bowl of chips on her knee as she watched the latest episode of _Grey’s Anatomy,_ finding way too much amusement in the medical inaccuracies and hospital romances. She usually watched on Thursdays with Raven, but had to skip this week because of work.

The patient on the television was coding when a loud bang came from the window behind the couch. She lazily reached for the remote on the ground, her eyes watching the bowl on her knee.

She heard the window slide open and she felt an easy smile form on her lips. This was going to be the first time they saw each other since their kiss in the rain. She was surprised that he was over, though, considering he told her he needed to go on patrol that night.

“Hey,” she said over her shoulder, her eyes still locked on the bowl. She paused _Grey’s_ and tossed the remote onto the coffee table a foot away. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

Clarke placed the bowl of chips alongside the remote and turned around to face Spider-Man. She expected to see the bright red suit that she’d come to love, maybe even a smile of his if she was lucky.

What she _didn’t_ expect to see was a dark haired man covered in blood and swaying on his feet.

She held her breath and felt horror overcome her. She jumped off the couch, but froze once her feet touched the ground. The man in front of her looked like a corpse and it terrified her. Blood was seeping through his fingers that clutched at his side, and it was quickly pouring down his arms. His chest was littered with dozens of other cuts, each going through the suit and puncturing the skin.

Most terrifying of all was the fact that the mask was missing. His cheeks were covered with purple and red bruises, and his jaw was swelling. She could barely see his skin through the blood that caked his skin.

She felt sick.

 _(Please don’t be him. Please don’t be him._ She clung to the delusion that this wasn’t Spider-Man. The man in front of her wasn’t the man she was falling in love with. This was someone else; this was someone who owned a spidey suit and just so happened to make his way to her apartment.

 _An imposture. This was an imposture._ She wouldn’t accept any other answer.)

Clarke didn’t know how much longer he was going to be able to stand. She could see his legs shaking from the exertion. Blood covered his face and soaked through his suit from multiple wounds. He looked like he was seconds away from passing out.

It felt like _she_ was seconds away from passing out. She was drowning and suffocating. Watching this man bleed out in her living room was terrifying and horrific. 

_(This isn’t him. This isn’t Spider-Man._ It couldn’t be.)

“Shit.” Clarke rushed forward without hesitation, closing the distance between them. He reached for her, his hands shaking. She caught him just before he collapsed, hooking her arm under his and pressing her hand to his chest.

Shock dulled her other emotions. She still felt the raging tides of panic and horror, but she managed to keep them at bay. 

_It was him. Only him._

The feeling of helplessness that had been growing was pushed to the back of her mind. The familiar feeling that came with treating a patient replaced the crushed sense of doom. 

_Distance. Detachment. Determination._

Clarke examined him quickly and made a quick inventory of all the injuries she could see. _It was bad. Really bad._ She didn’t know how he was still standing, never mind how he managed to make it all the way to her apartment.

Her eyes came to rest on his lips, now only inches away from her face. The bottom lip was split open and pouring blood down his chin. _And the top lip._ Through the blood, she could see a small white scar on the top lip.

Her heart froze in her chest.

_Fuck._

The was the same scar that Spider-Man had; she saw it days ago, moments before they kissed. 

(It was a coincidence. It had to be. This wasn’t him. This couldn’t be him.)

She was shaking, too. Her legs felt weak and her head spun, almost like _she_ was the one bleeding out, not this dark-haired man. She couldn’t recall the last time she felt so horrified.

 _She shouldn’t feel like this._ She was a doctor. She treated patients like this all of the time. She operated on people in worse shape than this. _She shouldn’t be on the verge of a meltdown._

But this was different than those other patients.

They locked eyes. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. His voice was so weak that she could barely hear him. She had to lean in closer. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

That was when she broke. She couldn’t deny it anymore. She spent hours listening to him talk. _She knew this was him._

Fuck. No, no, no. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

_Please. Not him._

Hearing him speak confirmed the one thing she tried so hard to ignore; the dying man in front of her was Spider-Man. The suit, the scar, the voice… without a doubt in her mind, this was him.

“It’s okay,” she promised him, her voice shaking. “It’s all okay.”

 _She was a liar._ He was dying and she couldn’t even tell him the truth — she couldn’t tell him that this wasn’t okay, that this was _so far_ from okay.

He was barely able to stand. She couldn’t make out his injuries through the blood and the mangled pieces of red fabric. He was bleeding out. _He was dying._

Nothing about that was okay.

His eyes were haunted, as if he could already see the ghosts from beyond. His fingers were covered in blood from where they’d been pressed against his wounds. He looked terrified and broken and _fuck, she wasn’t going to let him die._

“I need you to lay down.” 

She forced herself to fall back to her profession; distancing herself, detaching herself. _She could help him._ She trained for years to help people, to stitch people back together. This was what she was trained to do.

He tripped over his own feet as they made their way towards the couch. She kept him upright, but just barely. She lowered him to the couch as gently as she could, but didn’t move away.

Fuck. Her mind was racing a mile a minute. She needed to get him out of this suit. She needed to get all the medical supplies she had stashed around her house. Clean the wound. Examine. Stitch. Bandage. Keep him alive. 

_Keep him alive._

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice wavering. It sounded like he was on the verge of tears. _She_ was on the verge of tears. _God, this wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening._ “I’m so sorry Clarke.”

Clarke’s hands shook at her sides. “Shh,” she cooed. She reached forward and brushed hair dark hair off his forehead. 

_Fuck,_ this was the first time she touched his hair. 

(What if this is the last?)

His eyes fluttered closed at the contact. He looked broken in more ways than one. Her throat felt tight. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re okay.”

The hand that wasn’t running through his hair grasped his hand tightly. Her eyes swept over his face for the first time. 

Even with blood on his face, he was beautiful. His eyes were like pools of honey, sucking her in deeper and deeper. They were a warm colour of brown and it reminded her of home, which suited him perfectly.

His hair was curly, which was something she didn’t expect. It was a deep brown that reminded her of the forest. Even though it was damp with sweat and clung to his face, she instantly fell in love with it.

He was truly one of the most stunning people she’d ever seen. She wished that it was under different circumstances so she could take the time to admire just how beautiful he was.

 _They didn’t have time though._ He was hurt. He was dying.

Clarke pulled her hand away from his hair and cringed when she noticed it was covered in blood. She needed to get to work.

“I’ll help you,” she promised him. She tried to keep her voice strong and sure, hoping it would reassure him. She forced her hands to stop shaking. “I can do this.”

His grin was tiny. “I knew it,” he muttered. His eyes opened once again and locked on hers. “I knew you’d have enough supplies in that portable hospital of yours.” 

She let out a wet laugh. He remembered the joke he made from the first time they met. He was trying to joke around now, trying to reassure her.

Even on his deathbed, he was thinking of others. Typical.

“What happened?” she pressed. As she spoke, she examined his body, hoping his injuries were all surface wounds. 

Of course, that wasn’t the case.

He had a deep gash along his ribs. Luckily, that was the only life-threatening wound she could see. The rest of the cuts along his body seemed minor in comparison and she could already see his healing factor kicking in. The blood flow was slowing, the wounds were sealing.

 _Maybe he was going to be okay?_ Maybe she could do this. Maybe—

She pushed down the feeling of hope. Hope was a dangerous thing, and she couldn’t let herself feel it now; she couldn’t let herself risk his life.

_Stay focused. Distant. Detached. Focused._

“A mutant. It’s all taken care of.”

 _God,_ did he think she was worried about the threat out there? All she was worried about was him right now. Her biggest fear wasn’t a mutant running through the streets; it was losing him.

He tried to sit up, but she placed a firm hand on his chest. “No,” she pleaded. “Don’t move.” He relaxed into the couch, the fight leaving his body like his blood.

She glanced up at his face to make sure he was still conscious. He was, but she could tell he was barely hanging on. His eyes were locked on her face, but they kept fading in and out of focus.

“Please,” she begged. “Stay awake. I need you to stay awake.”

He managed a tiny nod. She would’ve missed it if she hadn’t spent the last several months studying his body language.

Clarke worked on removing the top half of the spidey suit from his body as he talked about the green scales and long teeth of a mutant human-animal hybrid he fought. His words were becoming more slurred with each passing second and it terrified her.

She ended up having to cut the top half of the suit away so she could see his wounds. They were even worse once the fabric was removed and the dried blood cleaned. Her hand shook as she worked.

_Please don’t die. Please don’t leave me._

She tried to ignore his groans of pain as she worked. Between stitches, she’d reach down and brush against his forearm, trying to bring him comfort. The tears on his cheeks broke her heart into a million pieces.

Part way through stitching him up without anesthetic, he went limp against the couch. Her heart flew into her throat and her stomach turned to lead.

_Please. No._

“Stay awake,” she begged him, a sob bubbling from her lips. “Stay awake.”

He managed another nod. She kept working with tears running down her cheeks. 

She continued to work on piecing him back together. She didn’t know how long it was until he spoke next.

“I’m dying.”

Clarke felt like she was going to get sick. Her hands stilled against his side and she met his eyes. “No. Don’t say that. You’ll be okay.”

They both knew those were empty words — empty promises.

His eyes were slow to open. “S’okay.”

She felt hysterical. _Nothing was okay right now._

“No, it’s not okay. You’re not allowed to die.” The words were coming from her mouth without a second thought. “You have to stay here. You have to stay awake.” She gripped his hand. “Promise me. Okay? _Please_.”

It was terrible to beg for a promise neither of them knew he could guarantee. She was desperate though, and desperate people did stupid things.

“S’okay.”

She could only sob harder.

A thick silence consumed both of them. She was suffocating. She was drowning. She couldn’t let him die, not only because he was Spider-Man, but because _she cared about him more than words could express._

She couldn’t lose him.

He managed to find the strength to move his hand to hers. She grasped it tightly. Both of them ignored the blood on her fingers. Time stood still as she stared at him, willing him to stay with her.

After a long moment, he broke the silence.

“Bellamy,” he said, his lips barely moving.

She didn’t know what he was talking about. She had gone completely still at his words. “I don’t know who that is.”

His lips twitched upwards to a smile. His eyes locked on hers. She only hoped this wasn’t the last time she’d get to see his eyes.

“It’s me,” he responded slowly. “Bellamy. That’s me.”

Her heart was racing in her chest. She wasn’t getting a good feeling from this. It felt like a goodbye. It felt like a final secret shared between friends. It felt like something binding.

( _Death_ is _binding,_ she thought. _Death is a promise that is never broken._ )

“That’s a pretty name,” she said, her voice wavering. She squeezed his hand. “Why are you telling me?”

His eyes kept fluttering closed. He was fighting with everything in him to stay awake. “I wanted someone to know before I died. I want you to know who I really am.”

“I do,” she promised him. “I know who you are, Bellamy. _I know you._ ”

His grasp was weak. He didn’t respond right away. Fear petrified her.

“No.” She rocked forward and grasped his shoulder. “Bellamy, wake up.” He didn’t respond. She feared the worst. “Bellamy. _Bellamy_!”

***

The next time she saw his eyes, the sun was up and she was four cups of coffee in.

She was resting against the couch Bellamy had passed out on, her eyes fluttering open and shut every few seconds. She didn’t sleep that night from the stress and worry, and also so she could keep an eye on him.

_He lived._

She was so fucking proud of him. She doubted just anyone could survive those wounds and the procedure. _But he did._ She could see his chest rising and falling evenly. She checked his pulse not too long ago, and that was holding steady as well.

It was a miracle that he managed to find his way to her apartment the previous night without passing out on the street. It was a miracle that he managed to stay silent through all the stitches, even though she knew that pain must’ve been unbearable. And, now, it was a miracle that he was sealed shut and healing.

Never before had she been so grateful for his healing ability. The smaller cuts around his torso had faded into angry red marks. The bruises along his face were turning yellow. His split lip was almost completely healed. With the blood off his body and the swelling nearly gone, he looked as close to normal as she thought he would.

The only real injury left behind was the large gash on his side. She doubted that would disappear anytime soon, even with the healing factor. It was a nasty and jagged wound, but it was sealed and he would heal eventually. All that would remain would be scars.

Clarke heard him stirring moments before he woke up. She groggily lifted her head, wanting to be there for him when he woke up. She didn’t know how much pain he would be in or how scared he would be.

_She hoped he wouldn’t have any pain. She hoped he wouldn’t wake up screaming._

Her hand grasped his when his eyes fluttered open. He stared at the ceiling intently with his eyebrows furrowed. He looked confused and she didn’t blame him.

She stayed silent as he tried to figure out what was going on. She doubted he’d remember much of what happened the previous night, other than the pain. She hoped he didn’t regret telling her his real name or showing her his true identity.

Now that the chaos had died down and she knew he was going to survive, she took the time to study his features. He was extremely good looking with a sharp jaw, warm eyes, curly hair, a smirk that made her heart race, and dimples that made her melt. He reminded her of Greek heroes and gods.

He was more gorgeous than she ever could imagine. 

She ran her hand through his hair slowly, trying to catch his attention without startling him. His eyes snapped towards hers. For a brief moment, they were wide with fear.

“Hey,” she said simply. Her fingers wrapped around his curls easily. “It’s okay.”

She didn’t look away from his eyes, his beautiful eyes. They were like windows to the soul on him. She wished she would’ve been able to see them earlier. Looking at them made her feel like she was looking right into his soul; like she could see every one of his thoughts and feel every one of his emotions.

Bellamy didn’t look away from her either. He must’ve been slowly remembering the previous night because, after a few moments, realization dawned on him.

“I’m alive,” he stated, his voice in awe. His free hand lifted up to touch his cheek. He looked shocked when he realized he wasn’t wearing his mask.

“You came here without it,” she explained. “I’m not too sure where you lost it.” She glanced at the torn up suit discarded a few feet away from her. “I have a feeling you’ll need to get a new one of these.”

“Hmmm,” he groaned, a soft look on his face. “You cut off the top half of my suit?”

She didn’t look guilty. “Yes, I did.”

He smirked. “Good thing you knew it was a onesie,” he mumbled. Clearly, he was proud of his terrible joke, and he let out a small chuckle. As soon as he did, he grimaced in pain and grasped at his side. She stopped his hand from disturbing the stitches.

“You had a rough night,” Clarke said. Her eyes studied his. “Do you remember anything?”

His hand tightened on hers. “I remember thinking I was dying. I remember thinking of you -- thinking that I needed to find you, to be with you as it happened.” The good mood that came with talks about onesies had vanished. “I remember you holding me and crying.”

Their eyes locked.

“Like I said, it was a rough night.” Her thumb ran over the back of his hand. “What else?”

“Nothing. I remember lots of pain.” He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. “How did you know who I was? When I came here?”

Clarke laughed at that. Even though she had been in denial, it had been obvious who he was the moment he stepped into her apartment.

“It was the scar on your lip,” she told him. “And your voice. I’m pretty sure I’d recognize that voice anywhere now, after so many hours of dreaming of it.”

His smirk was cocky. “You dream of my voice?”

 _I dream of you,_ she wanted to say. She stopped herself before she could, deciding that it was too cheesy, even for her.

“Do you remember anything else?” she prompted. 

Her heart skipped a beat at the tenderness in his expression. He looked at her like she hung the stars in the sky.

“I remember telling you who I am,” he said. “Who I _truly_ am.”

“Bellamy.” The name felt unfamiliar on her lips. She couldn’t wait to change that. She couldn’t wait until that name — _his name_ — became the one word she knew best. “I’ve always known who you truly were.”

“Yet, you never asked for my name.”

“I don’t need to know it, I _didn’t_ need to know it. I know you keep who you are a secret. You wear that mask to hide who you are. _And I get it_. The papers are terrible to you. The people you save are waiting for the next moment to tear you down. You want to keep a distance from Spider-Man because people are out there waiting for something to hurt you with.” She locked eyes with him. She didn’t think she’d ever grow tired of being able to see him eye-to-eye. 

“I understand, Bellamy, and I never wanted to push you to do something you didn’t want to do. I knew who you were from the way you look at the world, and from the way you treat people, and from the amount of love you have in your heart. _That’s_ how I know who you truly are — not because of your name, and not because of your face.” She reached forward so she could run her fingertips down his jaw. “Those two things didn’t change anything, because I already know you _deeper_ than that.”

He turned his head so he could press a swift kiss to the palm of her hand. “You’re amazing,” he said, his voice muffled against her skin.

She rocked forward and placed a solid kiss to his lips, one that he eagerly returned. 

Clarke had to admit, kissing him without the mask brushing against her nose was even better than she could’ve imagined. Being able to see how his smile lit up his face, or how his cheeks dimpled when he laughed, or how his emotions shone through his eyes was something she never thought she’d experience.

God, she loved him with the mask, but she was truly in love with the man behind it.

 _Bellamy._ She thought of his name with a blissful sigh.

 _Yes._ She loved Bellamy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt was made for me because I adore the Marvel fandom, and I love throwing Bellarke into different universes, so I’m so happy to be given this opportunity to write this!
> 
> A huge thank you to Jade who edited this. She’s a gem, you guys, and I can’t imagine how many hours she spent pouring over this. Thank you!
> 
> A wonderful and talented friend of mine created some fan art for this fic! Amazing!! Please go check out [this art](https://catastrophic-chloe.tumblr.com/post/186008929848/bellarke-spiderman-au-inspired-by-starry-eyes-and) by @catastrophic-chloe! A piece of art can also be found in the next chapter!
> 
> Thank you for reading. You can find me on Tumblr [here!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)


	2. Art by catastrophic-chloe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter is by the lovely catastrophic-chloe. You can find the art [here!](https://catastrophic-chloe.tumblr.com/post/186008929848/bellarke-spiderman-au-inspired-by-starry-eyes-and)


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